Chapter 7: What Jenna Knew
Sloan answered the door in the dark, Willa already in her arms.
She had heard the monitor before I knocked.
"She's fine," Sloan said, looking down at Willa.
"Just fussing.
What's wrong?"
"Come sit down."
She looked at my face.
Whatever she saw there made her stop asking questions.
She came out and sat on the couch, settling Willa against her chest.
I sat across from her and told her everything.
The call.
Daniel Carr.
What he had said about her.
And then the photograph.
Sloan listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
"Jenna and Daniel," she said finally.
"How long ago was that photo?"
"Three years."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"That was when Daniel and I were still together.
He told me it ended with her before we started.
He told me they were just friends." She opened her eyes.
"He lied."
"It looks that way."
"And Jenna knew." Her voice was flat.
Not angry yet.
Still processing.
"Jenna knew the whole time."
"That's what the photo suggests."
Sloan looked down at Willa.
"She was in the delivery room with me, Vincent.
She held my hand.
She told me I was doing the right thing by not telling you." Her jaw tightened.
"She told me you didn't deserve to know."
I kept my voice even.
"Why would she say that?"
"Because she's been telling me for two years that you were wrong for me.
That the marriage was a mistake.
That I was better off without you." Sloan's hand moved slowly over Willa's back.
"I thought she was being a good friend.
I thought she was protecting me."
"And Daniel calling me tonight—"
"Was meant to push you away." Sloan said it quietly, like she was finishing a sentence she had started without knowing it.
"If you pull back, if you get lawyers involved, if we end up in a custody dispute — Jenna gets to be right.
She gets to be the one who was always on my side while you were the problem." She looked up at me.
"And Daniel gets to be the reasonable one who warned you."
"What does Daniel want?"
Sloan was quiet for a moment.
"He asked me to come back to him.
About two months into the pregnancy.
He found out somehow — I don't know how — and he called and said he still loved me and that he'd raise the baby as his own if I wanted." She met my eyes.
"I said no.
I didn't tell him why.
I just said no and stopped taking his calls."
"And Jenna knew about that conversation?"
"Jenna knows everything about my life." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
"Or I thought she did.
I thought that was what friendship meant."
Willa stirred.
Sloan adjusted her hold automatically, the gesture so practiced it looked like breathing.
"What do you want to do?" I asked.
"I want to call Jenna right now and ask her to explain herself."
"It's two in the morning."
"I know what time it is." She looked at me.
"Do you think I'm wrong?
About what they were doing?"
"No," I said.
"I don't think you're wrong."
She nodded once.
Then she picked up her phone from the cushion beside her and called.
It rang four times.
Jenna answered on the fifth, her voice thick with sleep.
"Sloan?
What—"
"Were you with Daniel Carr before I was?" Sloan's voice was completely calm.
"While he and I were together.
Were you with him?"
Silence.
"Jenna."
"It's two in the morning—"
"Were you with him?"
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"It was complicated," Jenna said.
Sloan looked at me across the couch.
Her face didn't change.
"He called Vincent tonight," Sloan said.
"He told him I have a pattern of using people.
He said you gave him the number.
He said you asked him to call." She paused.
"Did you?"
The silence on the other end lasted long enough that it became its own answer.
"I was trying to protect you," Jenna said finally.
"Going back to him is a mistake.
You know it's a mistake.
I was trying to make him back off before—"
"Before what?" Sloan's voice was still quiet.
Still level.
"Before I made my own decision?"
"Sloan—"
"Don't call me again." She ended the call.
Set the phone down.
Looked at Willa.
I didn't say anything.
There was nothing to say that the silence wasn't already saying better.
After a while, Sloan looked up.
Her eyes were dry.
"I've been listening to her for two years," she said.
"About you.
About the marriage.
About what I deserved and what I didn't." She exhaled slowly.
"I wonder how much of what I believed about us came from her."
That question sat in the room between us like something that would take a long time to answer.
"Get some sleep," I said.
"I'll take Willa."
She handed her over without arguing.
That, more than anything, told me how tired she actually was.
I sat in the dark with my daughter and thought about all the ways a story can be shaped by the people who tell it to you, until you can't find the original underneath anymore.
By morning, I had made two decisions.
May you like
The first was about Jenna.
The second was about Sloan.
